The Night
by bikelock28
Summary: 2024. Tracy's in hospital and Ted's struggling to cope. It's times like these you need a bro... T for language and (quite a lot of) angst.


**Perhaps at one point this was a new chapter of** ** _Bottle Tops,_** **but it became too Ted-Barney angst (if you've read a lot of my stuff you'll know how much I love that). This chapter was inspired in part by the blog and social media accounts of Benjamin (and Jackson) Brooks-Dutton, and it is dedicated to YQB, with congratulations and luck xxx**

 **T for language and angst. Hope you enjoy.**

 _I feel her slipping through my fingers_

 _Now she's gone, I'm sleeping with the light on._

 _And shocks went through my veins_

 _Now that she's gone_

 _I'm sleeping with the light on._

\- Busted, _Sleeping With The Light On_

The Night

 _2024_

 **14:43**

"Well, I'd better go pick them up," you sigh.

"Hmm," she agrees. You don't move.

"Ted," Tracy prompts.

"Yeah, I'm going," you mumble, and add with a sigh, "I have a bad feeling about tonight,"

"Don't be silly, tonight hasn't happened yet," Tracy says, "And they seemed okay yesterday,"

"I'm tired today," you moan, "They can switch so fast. One day they'll be fine- Jesus, one _minute_ they'll be fine- and the next they're screaming and shaking and-" you shut up abruptly. You shouldn't worry her. "You're right, there's nothing to stress about. I'm being dramatic, that's all,"

You jump off the bed onto your feet, "I'd better go fetch them, don't want to be late. See you tomorrow. I love you,"

You kiss her goodbye (What You Hate About Tracy Being In Hospital No. 61837: Bending down to kiss her when she's in bed. It's like kissing your grandma, not your wife), promise to bring her _TES_ when you visit with the kids tomorrow, wave to the nurses and leave.

Is it bad that you always breathe a sigh of relief when you're out of that place?

* * *

 **15:26**

"Stop dawdling, Luke," you say over your shoulder.

"You're going to fast," he grumbles.

"No I'm not. Get a move on." You snap your fingers at him impatiently and he scurries to catch up with you.

"Daddy," Penny asks, "Was Shakespeare American?"

"No darling, English," you answer absently.

"So why is there so much Shakespeare in America?"

"What do you mean?"

" _You_ like Shakespeare and he's really famous and stuff,"

"He's a great playwright. The best,"

 _"Whyyy?"_

"Existential crises, exploration of human relationships, incredibly complex characters. Plus he's super funny. Hurry up, Luke,"

"Carry me," he whines. You roll your eyes. Luke's clinginess was cute when he was a toddler, but now it's irritating, and it's got much worse since Tracy became sick. Sometimes you try to wean him off it, but today you can't be bothered with the whining you know will ensue, so you bend down to let him climb on your back. Penny chatters on as you walk back through the park, telling you about how she's wrote a poem in English class and learnt the rules of dodgeball in Gym. Penny is the one who decides what kind of evening it's going to be. Yeah, your evenings are dictated by a stroppy eight-year-old girl and that's ridiculous, it sucks- but so are and so do most things these days, you glower. Luke's young enough that if he gets upset you can give him a cuddle or a cookie or stick a Sesame Street DVD on, whereas if Penny gets into a state she can be like that for hours. _But she's not in a state right now,_ you remind yourself, _She's chirping on about dodgeball and that's good._ Your friends are right about you overthinking everything.

You go out of the park gates and cross the street, go down Bexley Drive turn onto your street, hitching Luke up occasionally when he starts slipping down your back. You're just fishing for your key when Mrs Petosa comes out of number 83.

" _Ola,_ you three," she chirps.

"Ola Mrs Petosa," answers Penny, "I've been playing dodgeball,"

"That sounds exciting, _querida_ ," she replies, then looks at Luke, "Aw, is _señor_ Mosby tired,"

"No," Luke insists, and Mrs Petosa laughs.

"How's your Mommy?" she asks them, but her eyes look to yours.

"She's okay," you say, "I saw her today and you two came yesterday and we're all going tomorrow, aren't we?"

"Yeah," says Luke.

"She's white and floppy and tired, and she has this- this tube going into her hand and there was a tiny bit of her blood accidentally spilt into it, and her hands and her arms are bruised from where the poison's been injected, I hate it," Penny rattles off.

"Poison makes her better," Mrs Petosa points out.

"Yeah, we talk about that don't we, Penny? The poison makes Mommy sick, but its main job is to kill the cancer. So in a roundabout way it's good poison. We have to be patient,"

"Hmm," nods Penny.

"Your Papa's right. Mama will be back with you soon," Mrs Petosa says firmly, "You two keep your Papa out of trouble in the meantime?"

Luke giggles. Mrs Petosa gives him a wink, waves to you and Penny, and walks over to her car. You unlock the front door of your house, and the kids race inside, dumping their schoolbags on the floor.

"I wanna play with the iPanda," Luke announces, scrambling over the couch to unplug it from where it's charging.

"No, I want to," Penny argues. _Jesus Christ,_ you think, _kids and electric things._ They'll squabble over that damn iPanda all evening if you give them the chance.

"Neither of you are playing with the iPanda," you say firmly, "Do something away from your screens for a while; play with your cars or your action men or your doll's house,"

"Action man's _boring,"_ Luke moans.

"Well you've got your cars and your play-kitchen and your animals. You've both got loads of toys, you don't need to stare at a screen all evening,"

Penny, unexpectedly, goes upstairs without complaint, but Luke protests, "Daaaad-"

"Do some colouring, go see what's in your dressing-up box. Just go upstairs please," you say in your _don't-mess-with-Daddy_ voice. Luke huffs (a tick he surely must have copied from his sister) and goes upstairs.

You give switch the kettle on, flick through the newspaper while you wait for it to boil, and pour yourself a cup of tea. You move Luke and Penny's schoolbags into the cupboard under the stairs (they're supposed to take them upstairs themselves when they get home, but you reckoned you sounded a bit too stern when telling them to go play so you'll leave it for today), give the dog a prod.

"Hey, Bosky. How was your day?"

She opens one eye, looks at you sagely, and closes it again.

"Yeah, same," you mutter. She's ten now so not up to much apart from sleeping.

"Hospital was alright. Well, it wasn't, but it's been worse," you burble.

Bosky doesn't look at you, and exhales tiredly. You know how she feels.

* * *

 **16:10**

Screech. Thump. Bang. "Owww!"

You hear it and count to ten hoping that that's all there's going to be. Needless, to say it isn't.

"Ow! Luke! Go away,"

"I was j-"

"Go away,"- hissed, through gritted teeth, and before Luke can reply there's another bash, and then the unmistakeable, "Eeeuuurrr-eh-heh, eh-heh," as Luke bursts into tears. You sigh, toss your newspaper irritably aside and storm upstairs.

* * *

 **16:16**

After calming Luke down and telling Penny for the eight-thousandth time not to hit her brother, you usher them back to their rooms and return to your newspaper. Some days you can switch off from Tracy's illness and concentrate on reading or TV or work, but today your brain refuses to engage with the basketball scores or the election in France. You're feeling unsettled; you can't sit still. You have a scan through the kids' schoolbags for any letters or forms they'll inevitably forgotten to have handed you. You glance through the fridge and kitchen cupboards and get halfway through an online shop before Luke trots downstairs complaining of being bored.

"Go play with Bosky,"

"She doesn't like playing,"

"Then think of a fun game," you insist, "I didn't take her for a walk yesterday so she needs the exercise," (the first part of this sentence is true, although as for the second half you doubt that Bosky has any interest in exercise anymore).

"Fiiine," Luke agrees dramatically. You propel him and Bosky towards the back door, and shut it behind them. _What was I doing just then? Oh right, shopping. Do we have cheese? Does Walmart sell cake that's okay for Luke, or should I get it from Whole Foods? Or is that biscuits? What kind of yoghurts does Penny like these days?_

It's so hard on your own. So damn hard. Not only the time needed to get all these things done but the _headspace._ You're making endless lists but you inevitably forget stuff, stuff which Tracy would remember. You like to think that you have an equal relationship when it comes to taking care of the children and the house, although in the last couple of weeks you've realised that there's lots of things Tracy deals with- the washing machine, the electricity meter- which you haven't busied yourself with since before you moved in together. You wonder, if it was you in hospital, how Tracy would cope managing the household things which are usually your responsibility. Probably better, you decide jealously, since she's more mellow and patient than you are. She wouldn't get frustrated like you do.

* * *

 **17:24**

"Dinner's ready!"

"Is it on the table?" Penny shoots back from the lounge, where she's watching TV (you gave up on the away-from-screens thing when she started to get whiney. You know which battles to pick).

"Yes,"

"Because Mom says dinner's ready when it's still in the kitche-"

"Penny, your dinner's on the table, now get in here and eat it before it turns cold. Luke, inside,"

He'd given up playing with the dog and had been kicking a soccer ball around outside. He traipses indoors as Penny comes in from the den.

"Were you watching TV? That's not fair!" he crows immediately, "Daddy said no TV or iPanda,"

"That was some great dribbling you were doing out there, Luke. Coach Redman will be impressed with-"

"Dad, you said-"

" _I'm_ allowed to watch TV because _I'm-"_

"Stop it. Stop it both of you, right now," you snap.

"But it's not _fair_ ," Luke squeals.

"Less moaning, more eating,"

"You're mean, Daddy," he states, sliding into his chair.

"Do you want cheese?" you ask.

"Yes," says Luke.

"Yes _please,"_ says Penny.

You escape into the kitchen to grate some cheddar, taking your time so you can stay out of the room as long as possible. When you get back, Luke's playing with his fingers and hasn't touched his dinner.

"What's up?" you ask.

"Mom makes a nest," he notes morosely.

"Oh. I know, I-"

"Like, she puts peas on the meatballs to make eyes, and carrots for beaks,"

"Well, this is a nest," you invent, "But this time the meatballs are the eggs. Hey?"

"It's not the same," Luke strops.

Penny tuts loudly. Of all the things which irritate you about your daughter, it's this faux-grown-up act which gets on your nerves the most.

"Shut up, Pen," Luke growls.

"Stop being a baby, it's the same food," she says haughtily.

 _"Shut up!"_

"Don't talk to your sister like that," you reprimand.

"She started it!"

"Yes, so Penny stop being a little madam,"

"I was just _saying-"_

Something inside you snaps. You dump your cutlery down, scrape your chair back and stand up

"Dad?" asks Luke.

"I'm just getting away from you two for five minutes, alright?" you snap, "Finish your dinner, both of you, right now, and if there's any silliness or arguing then you're not getting any dinner tomorrow,"

You know it's a laughably nasty thing to say even as the words leave your mouth. But you feel like you've broken so many parenting rules in the past couple of weeks that one more won't make a difference. You storn out of the dining room and thump upstairs, tired and angry and miserable and lost. And you barely register making the decision, but you need what you always need when you're lost. Who you've been going back to when you're lost for twenty years.

You take your phone out of your pocket, and call Robin.

* * *

 **17:37**

"Hey, Ted". Her voice is always chirpier on the phone than it is in real life.

"Hi,"

There is a long pause while you have a mental argument with yourself- _You shouldn't have called her- yes you should- no, she's busy, she's probably at work, you'll be alright- you won't! You know you won't! Jesus, you need some help!_

"Ted?"

"Oh, um, right, I- God, Robin, I'm just having a really tough time with the kids tonight, I needed to call someone,"

She makes a noise somewhere between an Aw and an Oh, then pauses. "I'm sorry," she says at last. _Tracy's better at this,_ you think, then hate yourself for being so nasty.

"I told them if they carried on being naughty I wouldn't give them dinner tomorrow,"

She laughs. You like it when she laughs. "Even I know you're not supposed to say that to children,"

"It slipped out!" you protest good-naturedly, "And it seems to be keeping them quiet,"

"Seriously, Ted, do you need anything? What do you want?" Robin asks.

"I don't know. I want my freaking wife to get better," you moan, then blurt before you can stop yourself, "Could you come over?"

"Oh, Ted. Ted I'd love to, but I'm um, in Boston," she says sympathetically.

"Shit. I forgot, I didn't even ask," you groan, "I'm sorry Robin, of course not-"

"Barney's at home, you want me to call him?"

"Would you? Would he mind?"

"Are you kidding? You know how bored he gets at home". The implication- _you know how bored he gets at home without me-_ makes you smirk.

"Thank you. Thank you, Robin," you sigh, "I love you,"

"I love you, Ted. I'll call him. It'll be okay, yeah?"

"Yeah," you say, and both of you know that you don't believe it.

* * *

 **17:42**

"I was kidding, of course you can have dinner tomorrow. I'm never taking away dinner," you promise in a half-apology, re-entering the dining room, "Guess what?"

"What?"

"Uncle Barney's coming over,"

"Yay!" cheers Penny.

"Awesome!" crows Luke. (You hate how enthusiastic they get about him).

"He's bringing presents but you're only getting them if there's no more fighting for the rest of tonight. Understand?". Barney always brings presents.

"We weren't fight-" Penny begins.

"So homework then reading. Penny you use kitchen table, Luke you do it your bedroom."

* * *

 **18:33**

Barney always gets to Westchester quickly. You don't know how and you've given up asking- there's just some things about that guy you'll never know. You can't even ask Robin, because it's only when he's visiting alone that he can get from Upper Manhattan to Westchester in under an hour. When the doorbell rings Luke gasps and hurls himself down the stairs. It strikes you as weird that Barney has to ring the doorbell, when there were years when he'd have his own key and barge into your apartment unannounced whenever he wanted. Anyway, the kids charge downstairs and throw themselves at Barney, and he produces all sorts of magic tricks and candy and plastic made-in-Taiwan crap. Eventually the relinquish him long enough for him to get over to you and mutter seriously, "You alright, Ted?"

"I'm so tired," you admit.

"Go to bed," he says simply. When you momentarily don't reply, he continues, "Go to sleep. I'm not going to burn your house down. Penny, you don't mind if Daddy has a catnap do you?"

"No,"

"See. Go to bed, Ted". He smiles at the rhyme with the amusement of somebody who has not heard this several hundred times since he was two years old.

You go to bed.

* * *

 **19:41**

You wake up suddenly. Rubbing a hand across your face, you realise that you're wearing a sweater and jeans. You frown, glance at the clock and remember- kids, fighting, Barney, go to bed. Right. You sit up, noting that you can't hear any of the clamour which the combination of Barney and children usually brings. You check your apps but there isn't much going on, and pacing around you room alone will only stress you out. Your sweater's got that dry, sweaty feel which clothes get when you've napped in them, so you change into a lumberjack shirt and brush your teeth, before heading back downstairs. Penny's kneeling the floor playing with her doll's house, adjusting the little wooden shower while the little wooden mommy sits on the roof the little wooden amma is in the car and the little wooden children play in the yard. Barney's on the couch watching. Luke is on his knee, curled against him like a baby. _Ice Age_ , or one of its eight thousand sequels, is on TV.

"Hey, you three," you say, leaning in the doorway.

"Hi, Dad," says Penny, glancing at you then back to her doll's house.

You cross the room and sit down cross-legged beside her. "'Cha doin'?"

"Um, the mommy went shopping and the amma's looking for her,"

"On the roof?"

"Like in Mary Poppins,"

"When?"

"The captain guy who waits for the wind to change,"

"Oh, sure,"

You know better than to fiddle with Penny's dollhouse characters without her asking you to join in, so you go to sit on the armchair, pausing to run a hand through Luke's hair.

"So Boston?" you put to Barney.

"Mm-hmm. Some environment conference or something. She says it's boring as fu-...as fish with no salt," he corrects himself, but you don't think the children and listening. All three of them are still and quiet, and the fact that you're the newcomer in this scene with your own children gives you a surprising feeling of detachment. Like you're behind a screen, present but separate.

You don't mind at all. You're happy to watch.

* * *

 **20:10**

"Hey you two, almost bedtime,"

"I'm not tired," Luke whines automatically.

"Dude, you're practically asleep on me," Barney points out helpfully.

"I'm resting,"

"Well rest," you say, picking him up and tickling him as you toss him onto your shoulder, "In bed. For eight hours. It isn't even bath night tonight," (to be honest, bath night has become pretty irregular in the last couple of weeks while you work out if it actually is quicker to give the children baths together, or if the messing about- or fighting, depending on what mood they're in- is more time-consuming), "Come on, upstairs. You too, Penny,"

"In a minute,"

You pass Luke to Barney, who takes him upstairs, and you kneel down beside your daughter.

"How are you feeling now?" you ask softly.

"...Okay,"

"Not angry anymore?"

"I want to see Mommy,"

"We can see her tomorrow. She's looking forward to it, she said today how much sh-"

"How come you get to see Mom every day and we only see her every two days?"

"Because you're busy doing fun things, aren't you? And hospital isn't very nice, is it? You don't want to go there every single day,"

"You do," Penny says bluntly, looking at you accusingly with Tracy's eyes.

"It's bedtime, sweetheart," you say, changing the subject, "Toys away. You run upstairs and I'll be there in a minute, alright? And then when you wake up it'll be tomorrow and you'll be seeing you Mom later,"

"Yeah," Penny concedes. She sounds unconvinced and she unenthusiastically chucks her dolls back into the doll's house- but she trots upstairs without complaint. You pause the TV, flick the kettle on and text Robin to let her know Barney got here, even though that was ages ago now. There's a text from Marshall too, and a couple of emails from Saabira from work. You reply, and you're glancing around for a take-out menu when there's a sudden screech from above.

"Daddy! Dad! Dad!"

"What is it, Luke?" you call. For God's sake, Penny went upstairs two minutes ago, they can't have got into a fight already, can they?

"Daddy, I need you,". His voice is petulant, begging.

"Why?" you sigh.

"To do the thing,"

"What's th-" you grumble, ducking out of the kitchen and peering upstairs. Luke's standing behind the banister in his puppy- patterned pyjama top and his jeans, looking upset. Barney's behind him wearing a bemused and hurt expression. "Oh," you realise, and hurry upstairs.

"Barney can you just check on Penny for a second?" you ask, shooting him a very fierce look. He looks even more insulted and nonplussed, but he can obviously tell that this is something odd and important, because he obeys without questioning. Luke drags you into his bedroom and makes sure that you close the door behind you.

"Dude, it's okay. Calm down," you tell him.

"Dadd _yyyy_ ," he whinges impatiently.

You fetch one of the bedwetting diapers from his drawer, whizz him out of his trousers and underpants and into the diaper and his pyjama bottoms. You chatter to him, but Luke remains still and silent until you're getting up to go out of the door.

"Don't tell him, Daddy," he whispers nervously. You roll your eyes, and drop to your knees in front of him again. You put your hands on his spindly shoulders and tell him, "Luke, this is nothing. To. Worry. About. It'll stop happening soon, I promise,"

"Say you won't tell him!" he hisses.

You give up trying to reason him out of his distress and reply, "I won't tell him,"

"We're done," you call into Penny's room. Barney sticks his head out, eyebrows squiggled quizzically, but you shake your head and go back downstairs. You find the take-out menu and study it, slip it into your pocket while you clear up the toys which Penny missed, and to put the dishwasher on. You flick TV channels for ten minutes or so, then pop upstairs again to kiss Luke goodnight. He's half-asleep already when you kneel beside his bed and tell him, "I love you Lukey,"

"Hmm,"

"Mommy loves you too,"

"I know," he mumbles, drifting off.

"Sleep well little man,"

"Mmm,"

You smile to yourself, kiss his forehead, and close his door on your way out. Back in the corridor, you can hear Penny's voice reading aloud. Sticking your head around her bedroom door, you see her sitting up in bed holding her book. Barney's kneeling on the floor beside the bed, chin in his hands on the mattress. " _Artemis paused, his gaze tugged momentarily upstairs to the converted loft. 'Perhaps', he thought, 'Do I really need all this gold?'. And was his conscience not pricking him, leeching the sweetness from his victory? He shook himself. Stick t-"_ Penny stops reading abruptly as she notices you.

"What's happening?" you ask.

"Um, Artemis is talking to the Captain about the magic,"

"Is it exciting?"

"It's going to get really exciting soon, I can tell,"

"Cool," you say with forced interest, "Barney, how are you for food? I forgot to ask,"

He shrugs, "'M alright. I had chips earlier,"

You roll your eyes.

"And a Starbucks for lunch," he adds, slightly defensively.

"Daddy," interrupts Penny, "Can you go away now? I wanna read,"

"Ah, of course,"

Barney smirks. You shoot him a half-jokey glare, kiss Penny goodnight, and go back over to Luke's room. You lean on the doorframe, watching your son sleep. His blue nightlight illuminating the room oddly. His dark tufty head. His fingers clinging to the blanket, his Eeyore teddy lolling beside him. The toy cars on the floor, the socks discarded by his washing-basket. You take it all in for a long time, gazing at Luke's bedroom and thinking of nothing in particular, until you hear a breath behind you. You glance over your shoulder at Barney, standing awkwardly on the landing. You wonder if he wanted you to notice him. You wonder how long he's been watching you watch Luke.

"Mmm?" you mumble

He shrugs. "Are you okay?"

You shrug back, looking at Luke again. After a long time, you murmur, "We had a parent-teacher evening before Christmas, before all this happened. His teacher told us the usual stuff- spends too much time of the class computer, good at reading, could be better at math if he worked harder. And then she….and right at the end she said, 'He's a really sweet boy' and that was kind of enough, you know? When I heard that, that was all I wanted to hear. And when we got home Tracy told him about working harder and not giggling in class and what he had to improve, and I just told him that I was proud because his teacher said he was sweet," you exhale, and nod at the sleeping child, "Look at him, hey? He's so lovely….what the hell has he done to be stuck in this mess?" and then you're crying, tears and snot everywhere and you're slumping against the doorframe spluttering and Barney's looking tense and propping you up and squeaking, "Fuck, fuck. Shit, Ted," and you're both trying to close Luke's door before you collapse. And your arms are uncomfortably around Barney's shoulders, or maybe it's his waist and he's swearing and stumbling backwards as he guides you downstairs and you can't stop crying.

"Okay, okay, sit down. There we go, okay? Alright," he mumbles, walking you over to the couch, "Stop. Oh my God, Ted, stop,"

He dumps you onto the cushions.

"Ted, look at me. Yeah? Ted,"

You force your head up but you can't bring yourself to meet his eyes. You stare at his chin, tears dribbling down your face.

"Okay. There we are. Shh, okay?"

You're still crying.

"Deep breaths, yeah? What does Trace always say- three d-"

"Three deep breaths. Got it," you choke out. You take the three breaths, which leaves an awkward silence, but you feel better afterwards. Slightly.

"I'll get you a drink," Barney says, and he dashes away from you.

* * *

 **20:39**

A mug, two glasses and a bottle are on the tray.

"Err, I got you water, gin, beer and tea," Barney explains sheepishly, "So, urm, take you pick,"

You smile somewhere and take tea, not bothering to wonder where he got the gin from. Barney sits on the couch, further away from you than he usually would, and unpauses _Ice Age._ The silence is thick and squirming. _When girls cry in movies,_ you think, _it isn't like this. When girls cry in movies they hug it out and eat ice-cream._ You wonder if the difference is that you're not girls or that you're not in a movie. The mammoth and the sloth-weasel-y thing bicker with each other.

"I don't know what to do," you whisper hoarsely.

"Do you want another drink?"

"I really don't know. I can't do this by myself much longer, I'm losing patience, I'm losing weight, I'm losing track of everything," you babble, "I buy the wrong kind of milk, I don't know when the last time I shaved was-"

"Ted-"

"Tracy isn't at work, I'm having to have time off too, plus there's medical fees. I'm so tired, I can't do this on my own, seriously I can't, what if I have to, what if it ends up that there's no Tracy and it's just me and the kids, I don't know what I'm doing, I can't do this, they need their Mom- what are you doing?"

Barney taking a little book out of his pocket shuts you up. He picks a pen up off the coffee table, writes something, then rips the page out.

It's a cheque.

"There you are," he says, holding it out, "That should be enough for a while, I think,"

You don't respond.

"Take it," Barney says lightly, thrusting his hand forward.

"No," you croak. You've always known he's got more money than you and you've never much cared- you've never struggled for money, you've always had enough for what you need and mostly what you want, your kids have a comfortable life.

"Nah, go on,"

"No,"

"Ted,"

"I said no,"

"You're worrying about money, I'm giving you money! Just take the cheque Godammit,"

"Perhaps this is a nice little sideshow drama for you to watch from Manhattan, but this is my real life, my real wife ill in hospital! Not some…some excuse for you to show off to me how much money you have!"

It takes a couple of seconds for your words to sink in, but when they do he looks hurt, really hurt. _Serve him right,_ you think darkly, _my wife's cancer isn't for his ego._ Barney takes a couple of deep breaths, then screeches, "Fuck you! Fuck you, Ted! I could be playing Laser Tag right now, I could be having Skype sex with Robin, I've got work tomorrow- and I'm here in fucking _Westchester,_ having spent a fortune of a taxi- I come here, I send you to bed while I play with your children, I hold you when you fucking _cry-_ and you think this is about _money?!"._ Barney inhales, exhales and snarls, "Well fuck you". He wheels away from you, grabs his hair with both hands and yanks it, and kicks the dollhouse over. Amma flies off the dollhouse roof and bounces off the TV screen.

"WHY IS EVERYTHING GOING WRONG?!" you scream, smashing your fist on the coffee table, "Everything was _fine!_ Everything was great, I found a wife, I had a good marriage and a nice house and happy kids and now _ev-"_ you get caught on the word, " _Everything_ has gone wrong. God, everything must have gone to shit for me if I need _you_ of all people to come and fix things". Getting at Barney has always been a way for you to feel better about yourself. You've been doing it to each other for twenty years; all those times you've called him crazy, insane, out of his mind, the devil, a sociopath. All those times you insisted that he wasn't your best friend. All those months you spent wondering why Robin would possibly want to marry him. All those times you told yourself you were so much better, more deserving, more honest and reliable and everything she should want in a husband. And Barney would do the same to you- he'd criticise your hair, your dress sense, your romantic optimism, your job, your intellectual side. He'd stay over at your place and leave the bathroom door open in the morning while he primped his hair, admired his chest, flirted with his reflection. You'd roll your eyes, but when you'd go in the bathroom afterwards, your reflection always looked unimpressively weedy. He'd brag about his sex life- Jesus, he still does it (Robin pretends to be irritated)- because he thought it'd make you feel bad about yourself, and that made him feel better about _himself_. You've been dancing some kind of fucked-up tango with each other for twenty years.

"Gee, Ted, didn't realise you didn't want your best friend around while your wife's in hospital," he spits. You wonder if this is what he's like fighting with Robin.

"If you need to go and break something, do it outside," you croak.

"Are you asking me to leave? Cos I will, you know," he holds his arms up, "If that's what you want, Ted, I'm gone,"

Neither of you are shouting anymore, which is probably a good thing considering the children are asleep upstairs. The implication, you know, is _I'm gone and I won't come back,_ but that's bullshit. He won't leave you in the lurch when Tracy's sick- even if he wanted to Robin wouldn't let him. Besides, Barney would never leave you as a friend- he's never tried to dump you and the few times you've argued it's always him who comes crawling back. You could, you think nastily, make him do that. You could go crazy at him, you could tell him that you hate him and you don't need him and you could cheer yourself up by crushing that sorry bastard, and he'd still come back to you- _Ted, calm the fuck down, okay? You're seriously considering this? Don't be stupid. Don't be crazy. Calm down, calm down. Three deep breaths. One...two...three..._

"No," you say hoarsely, "I meant that if you're mad you can kick the trash trolley over,"

"Uh, no, I...I think I'm okay," Barney mutters. He exhales heavily, and begins to pace. You watch him even though you know you shouldn't. His fingers fidget and he doesn't put them in his pocket.

* * *

 **20:52**

"It isn't a sideshow," he whispers. He stopped pacing and sat down next to you a few minutes ago. Neither of you have spoken until now.

You glance at Barney but his eyes are fixed on the television screen, "If you don't believe me about anything else, believe me on this: I'm scared too. And I...this is like the main thing right now. In my life. This,"

"I know," you answer, partly because you do believe him and mostly because you want him to shut up.

After another long pause you say, frowning, "On what planet is this dumb squirrel thing funny?"

"Beats me,"

"Maybe for fifteen seconds in the first movie but Jesus Christ, it's stone dead right now,"

"You know what it's like? Those aliens in _Toy Story,_

 _"_ Oh my God, yes. They were so irrelevant after the first movie,"

"Claaaw,"

"Claaaaaw,"

"Claaaaaaaw,"

"What's the other thing? ' _You have saved our lives, we greet you as our leader'_?"

"' _You have saved our lives and we are grateful',_ isn't it?"

" _'We are grateful_ because _you saved our lives'_?"

"Nah, it definitely starts ' _You have saved our lives'_. You've probably watched this more than me, Ted,"

"Nah. The kids didn't like the bit with the incinerator. Or, um, Luke really used to hate the bit when it's like a dream and Woody throws him through a pack of cards into the garbage,"

"Woody throws who?"

"Oh, Andy, I meant. Andy throws Woody,"

There's another silence and then Barney clears his throat and asks nervously, "Am I allowed to ask what that thing with Luke earlier was about?"

"What?"

"He had to have you put him in his pyjamas. What's with that?"

"Oh," you explain, blasé, "He wets the bed,"

"Aw-" but the look you shoot him shuts him up- "I mean- oh. Poor kid,"

"Yeah, it's been going on for three weeks, a month maybe. Since Tracy started getting really sick," (it's suddenly so easy to talk about), "Three or four nights a week. He hates it, absolutely mortified, desperate for nobody to find out,"

"Penny would tear him to shreds about it, right?" he says.

"I can't tell you what Penny would or wouldn't do in any situation these days," you admit wearily, "He gets so panicked which is making it worse. Oh, and don't you dare tell Marshall I'm using disposable diapers,"

"Dude. I don't need all this diaper talk. There's a reason I don't have kids, you know,"

The last sentence seems an odd one, out of place. You pause and mumble, "Um, can I ask you someth-"

"No," he interrupts bluntly.

"Oh. Right,"

"No, I don't mean no you can't ask me something. I mean the answer to the question is no,"

"You don't know what I was goi-"

"It's no, it's always been no. I know you sometimes think you see something in me and you think 'maybe', but trust me, I couldn't and I wouldn't, not even if we could, not even if she changed her mi-" after gabbling this sentence out, he cuts himself off abruptly. The pause that follows is even more awkward for you, because the question he answered so defensively is not the one you were going to ask.

You take the menu out from you back pocket and ask, "Hey, shall we order a take-out? The one good thing about all this is I let myself eat like I'm in college."

* * *

 **22:19**

"I'm gonna go to bed," you announce.

"'Lright". He doesn't try to hide his relief. There's an uncomfortable few ice second where both of you try to calculate if you should hug, but eventually you let it go, give him an abstract sort of nod and mumble, "See you later."

"Mmm," Barney mumbles.

"Thank you for coming over," you add.

"Hmm,"

Upstairs, you pass the kids' rooms but don't check on them, and go straight to the bathroom to brush your teeth, take your sleeping tablets and run a comb through your hair. In your bedroom you change into your pyjamas, set your alarm, flick the light off and climb into bed. After such a long afternoon, the day seems to have ended rather quickly. It's undeniably a relief. You hear the TV change channel, and wonder how long Barney's going to stay for. He'll be gone in by morning- it's the sort of thing he does to perpetuate an aura of mystery around him, like he's some kind of metrosexual Santa Claus. Comes in the dark with presents and gone by sunrise. Stupid bastard, you think, unsure if the tone if your head is irritated or affectionate. Besides, he's got work tomorrow and although he's good at staying up late, staying up late and then getting back to Manhattan for 9am is a stretch. _Eh,_ you reckon, _he can sort himself out._ You've got a lot of things to worry about, and Barney Stinson's work commitments are not included on that list. You mentally run through tomorrow's arrangements regarding kids, work (you've set aside a couple of hours to work on some sketches, although you know yourself well enough to doubt how productive that time will realistically be), hospital, household stuff. On the bedside table beside you there's a photo of you and Tracy at one of her friend's birthday parties, before the kids were born. You're both sitting on an outside couch. You've got one leg crossed over the other and your arm around Tracy's hip. She's leaning into your jaw, mouth wide open like she's trying to eat you. When the photos were put online the day after the photo, nobody could remember what the context was; if Tracy had been laughing, pretending to shout at you, or anything else. It's a picture which has made the two of you laugh, remember and wonder ever since. Now, it reminds you of a very distant and innocent time. For most of your thirties you felt older than you were, although looking at it now, the version of yourself in the picture looks young and naive, so much that it makes suddenly makes you uncomfortable. You wipe your eyes on the sheet and turn your view to the photo on the dresser. It's a larger picture, of Marshall's 40th birthday two years ago. All eleven of you crammed into shot, variously holding up kids (you, Lily), on the floor (Penny, Anna), flicking peace signs at the camera (Daisy, Marvin, Tracy), looking away (Luke, Robin), and actually managing to look nice for the photo (Marshall, Barney). It isn't the best photo taken any of you by any means, probably not the best photo taken of you all as a group, but you and Tracy both like the energy in the picture; the kids looking natural, not stuffed into smart clothes and told to stand still while they say 'Cheese'.

Even when you shut your eyes you see the images of those photos, those nights, those people, along with replaying tonight in your head. It hadn't been a good one. You'd screwed up literally everything with the children, cried, and argued with Barney for the first time in years. You remember your words from earlier- _What the hell has he done to be stuck in this mess._ Nothing, of course. None of you have. None of you deserve any of this.

You drift off to sleep.

* * *

 **Thank you for taking the time to read. Please review to let me know what you thought.**

 **I don't own any of the books, films or brands named in this fic. And thanks to R and FG for being the inspiration for the photo of Ted and Tracy.**


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